The Collaborative Sessions
by Simon Grey
Summary: When a hyperspace accident takes the crew of the Bebop out of their solar system and four hundred years into the future, their only hope of returning to Sol lies with completing a dangerous bounty for the Alliance Government-the one on River Tam and, by extension, the crew of the Serenity.
1. Session 1: The Invisible Men

**Session One: The Invisible Men**

"Mr. Black," said one of the men sitting at the table. "Have a seat."

Jet Black hesitated, then sat down in a chair on the opposite side of the table. His dark uniform felt suddenly tight and uncomfortable. This was not a place he wanted to be-he'd already spent too much time in white rooms like this, a one-directional mirror along one wall so he could be observed.

"I'll be honest," he said. "I'm used to sitting on the other side, now."

Neither the man with a thinning head of brown hair nor the man balder than he was smiled. "We can see that," said the man with hair, opening a folder in front of him. "In the years since your release you've climbed through the ranks of the Beaumonde Police Department with remarkable speed." He paused. "It seems you've even turned down a promotion."

"Job would have been all paperwork, if I had," Jet grunted, looking down at the floor. "Takes too much as it is."

The bald man leaned forward. "You've also rabidly pursued corruption within the ranks. In fact, you've beaten out three different IA investigations, exposing the corrupt officers they had just started to investigate."

Jet looked up and smiled. "It's nice to do work that matters," he said. "Beaumonde ain't great, but the corruption hasn't set in yet."

"Ah, yes," the man with hair said. "We read your personal files on the ISSP."

Jet's smile vanished. "Those were private."

"Nothing you own is private, Mr. Black," said the man with hair. "Not even your life."

Jet's hands tightened into fists on his lap.

"But we can give it back to you," said the bald man.

Jet stared at him for a moment. "What?"

"We have completed our examination of your ship," said the man with hair. "We believe we can replicate the incident that brought you here. If you are so inclined, we can send you back."

Jet stared at them for a moment. "Send me..." He thought of it a moment-of devastated earth and the ISSP that had long since been crushed by corruption. Of a world broken and battered by the fall of Earth. But his world.

"And, if you'd prefer to stay here," the man with hair continued. "We are willing to return your ship, illegal military hardware included. We have even upgraded it to enable to better travel about our verse."

And there was nothing at all doubtful about that thought-regardless of where he was, to have the _Bebop _again, to be able to fly his ship...

"Generous of you," Jet said, keeping his face neutral. "What's the catch?"

"We require your services," the man with hair answered.

"You already have them," Jet said, pulling at the uniform he wore.

The bald man shook his head. "I'm afraid we need your skills in a...different area."

Jet stared between them for a moment, then laughed. "You have a bounty?"

"Yes," the bald man said.

"Then find someone else." Jet leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. "You've read the records. You know how bad we were."

"Trained in an environment of bounty hunters with a penchant for getting the job done even at the cost of the bounty," said the man with hair. "No, Mr. Black, given the failures we've had from other sources, I think you are the perfect man for the job. And you will, of course, receive your ship to make this easier."

Jet's breath caught in his throat. To get his ship back, all for the sake of a bounty...? But he knew these people, he'd been held by these people, surely there was a dark side to this, surely there was more to the story...

"I'd need my crew," he said.

"We'll give you what information we have," said the bald man. "But they have not been as...easy to keep track of, as you."

Naturally, they wouldn't.

"Alright," Jet said. "Tell me about the job."

The man with hair reached into the folder, pulled out a picture, and slid it across the table-a picture of a too-pale girl with stringy black hair and gloomy eyes that loomed out of the photo. It was only as he did this that Jet noticed the strangest thing about the man-the startling shade of blue the skin on his hands was. "Her name is River Tam," said the man with hair. "A very dangerous girl working with a group of career criminals aboard aboard the Firefly-class ship _Serenity._"


	2. Session 2: Headlong

**Session Two: Headlong**

Spike woke up as a sudden shake cast him off the couch. He managed to catch himself at the last moment and flipped himself back onto his feet, staggering. He opened his mouth, prepared to yell at whoever was responsible-Ed, he assumed, or maybe Faye.

Ein spun by, barking and whining, and only then did Spike realize that it was the whole ship that was shaking.

"What the hell?" he muttered, scooping Ein up and scrambling for the bridge.

"ED!" Jet roared. "I need to know what this is!"

"Ed can't say!" Ed squeaked. "No data, bad data, dog data, no!"

Spike slid the dog towards her, and Ed squealed happily and grabbed Ein with her feet even as her fingers blurred over her computer.

"What the hell's going on, Jet!" Spike shouted, sliding into the midst of things. Outside of the _Bebop_, the vague golden glow of Hyperspace had been marred by something-streaks of terrible red here and there, that made his eyes ache to look at. He lifted a hand to his face, grimacing.

"No idea," Jet said. "Got word from up ahead that there was some trouble with the gate, but..." Jet's hand were flying over the near-at-hand computer as he grappled with the _Bebop's _controls.

"What is this stuff?" Spike asked, barely keeping his feet and gesturing towards the red streaking through the hyperspace outside.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Faye yelled, nearly falling through the door and desperately pulling her towel up with one hand. "What's going on, Jet?"

"I'm not explaining again!" he yelled.

"Uh, Jet," Spike said, staring. "The stuff is...there's more of it."

The others all looked in the same place he was-at the huge clumps of red now breaking off from the sides of the gate and floating freely in their midst.

"That can't be good," Jet said.

The clumps of red intensified, 'til the golden glow without had vanished and seemed as though the _Bebop_ were hurtling through a cloud of crimson.

_Like blood_, Spike thought, distantly. _Bad omen_.

And all at once the red was gone. They were floating in the dark, stars twinkling in the distance.

"What _was _that?" asked Faye, shaking her head and spilling droplets of water in all directions.

"At least we're not stuck in hyperspace," Jet grunted. "That's weird...I can't get any locational data from anyone." He frowned, typed something in, then frowned again. "Can't make any calls..."

Spike kept looking at the space beyond the Bebop's window. Something felt wrong here, something he couldn't quite place, and he frowned at the world outside, tapping his foot. He felt adrift in a strange way, as though he were in the wrong place.

Ein barked. "Ein?" Ed said, cocking her head to one side. The dog barked again, and Ed looked at her computer and gasped. "No data, bad data!"

"Ed-" Jet started.

"Not in Sol!" Ed said.

"Not in-" Jet stared out the window, then started typing something into his computer. "That's impossible." But Spike saw it long before Jet drew in a deep breath and said, "The star maps...they don't match."

Of course they didn't match. These were the wrong stars, twisting, swelling, morphing in strange green patterns...

Wait, what?

"Jet," Spike said, tapping the window. Jet looked up, and saw it at the same time-a frightening shape, like two melded skyscrapers floating its way towards them through the dark.

"Call coming, words thrumming, bad things on the air," Ed whispered, grabbed her computer, and scampered away.

Something beeped in Jet's general vicinity. He touched it, and words filled the bridge.

"This is the I.A.V. _Indemnity_," said a harsh voice. "Your ship is not registered and is flying with unlicensed technology. You are to dock with us or you will be destroyed."

"Screw that," hissed Spike and turned to run to the hangar. "Faye, come on, let's-"

"No," Jet said. Spike glanced at him, and he pointed out the window again. Spike followed his gaze and saw that there were already more ships without-a small cloud of ships, each roughly the size of the Swordfish. "Fighters," Jet said.

Spike put a hand to his forehead and sighed.

"This is the _Bebop_," Jet said. "We're coming in."

Jet began to maneuver the ship forward. Spike sighed and collapsed backwards into a convenient chair.

Where the hell were they? And whose stars were they seeing?


	3. Session 3: Another One Bites the Dust

**Session Three: Another One Bites the Dust**

"Hey!" someone shouted, right into Spike's ear. Spike lazily opened one eye and stared at the particular loudmouth who'd chosen to intrude on his sleep-a sizable brute, a little pudgy around the middle but with impressively thick arms.

"Hey," Spike said, then closed his eye and tried to go back to sleep.

Rough hands grabbed him and hauled him into the air. Spike sighed and opened both eyes. "I'm not late on my payments," Spike said.

The man, who was dark-skinned and mostly bald, grinned. "I ain't with the hotel."

Ah.

Spike kicked between the man's legs, than jerked his foot back as the man flinched to try and shield his groin. He caught him behind the knee, and the man stumbled. Spike twisted, slipped free of his grasp, and then kept twisting and delivered another kick, right to the back of the man's head. As he fell forward, Spike grabbed the gun tucked under his pillow and pressed it against the back of the man's head.

"Who's your boss?" Spike asked.

"I...I ain't-"

Spike slammed a foot into man's hand, and felt something crunch. The man screamed.

"Wrong answer," Spike said. "Who's your boss?"

"Xiang!" shrieked the enforcer. "Xiang Bei!"

Spike sighed. "Xiang again?" Spike asked. "How does he still have money for you guys?" He thought for a moment, then frowned. "Wait...how _does _he have money for you guys?" He pressed the gun deeper into the man's skull.

"Y-you didn't get everything," the man whimpered. "He's still got shipments coming in from Santo!"

Spike sighed. "Of course he does. When's the next shipment?"

"Tonight! It's tonight!"

"Where?"

"A ship two hours outside of town!"

"Mmm. And he's not stupid enough to send just you, is he?"

"He..." The man trailed off, sobbing a little. "He put a bounty on you, and I thought-"

Spike laughed. "A bounty, huh? I can understand that." He spun the gun around and cracked it into the back of the man's head. "Still, can't have you letting people know you saw me." He grabbed his holster from beneath the bed and slung it over one shoulder before walking to the closet. He flipped open the case he'd left and stared at the shotgun, grenades, ammo, and coins within, then nodded and slammed it shut again, throwing it over one shoulder and sprinting out the door.

The ship carrying Xiang's goods-a blocky brown thing with no spark to it-sparked and stuttered its way through the night sky and landed in a spray of dust and wind. Spike kept his goggles on them, counted them as they came out-six crewmen, four of whom were armed and two of who were moving the cargo. Xiang Bei had also brought six enforcers, each well-armed and guarding his shuttle.

A shuttle which soon disgorged the man himself-an exceedingly tall Chinese man whose limbs looked vaguely spider-like.

_My lucky night_, Spike thought.

He approached quietly-he had a little time, the smugglers were haggling for more money than Xiang seemed willing to give. Made sense, Spike thought with a smile-he'd put one hell of a dent in Xiang's operations. By the time he was close enough to be spotted, he'd already thrown a grenade into the air-towards the shuttle, of course.

The explosion threw back several of Xiang's men, though it seemed to kill only one. But that was alright-the blast would disorient them, and it certainly drew the attention of the men guarding Xiang's goods. The light of their cargo hold was enough for Spike to take out the four with guns.

But Xiang's men-at least, somet of them-appeared to have gotten their shit in order. Shots tore through the air, kicked up dust around him. Spike whirled and fired until he'd emptied his clip, taking down three of Xiang's enforcers, but two were still standing, still firing. A bullet bit into his arm, and Spike yelled in pain and rolled to one side, expelling his current clip and slamming the one from his pocket into place. Four more shots.

The last of Xiang's enforcers dropped to the ground. Spike glanced at the wound in his left arm and grimaced, but did not allow his right arm-the one with the gun-to waver.

"Spike-" started Xiang.

Spike pulled the trigger. Xiang Bei dropped to the ground. Spike whirled around and kept his gun on the two men who'd begun to move for their fallen comrades' guns.

"These all of them," Spike said, jerking his head towards the raggedly-dressed people in chains-the twenty slaves Xiang Bei had intended to sell from his auction house here on Lilac. One of the smugglers nodded. "Alright," Spike said. "Remove the chains and get them onto his shuttle." The smugglers hesitated and exchanged glances, and without a word Spike shot one of them in the leg. As he screamed, Spike pointed his gun at the unwounded Smuggler. "Get them onto his shuttle," Spike repeated.

The man wasted no time in doing so. Spike knelt beside Xiang Bei's body, removed the sack of hard coin he had brought with him to make the purchase, and stood back up. As the last of the slaves made their way into the shuttle, Spike grabbed the smuggler and threw him away from the shuttle. "Get out of here," Spike said.

The smuggler scrambled for his ship. Spike kept his gun on him as he grabbed his partner, hauled him to his feet, and helped him limp into the cargo hold. As soon as the cargo bay doors began to close, Spike turned and threw himself aboard the shuttle, tossing the sack of coin to the slaves in the back.

"That's supposed to be what you're worth," he called. "I'd say you've earned it."

He brought the shuttle into the air, and went flying off into the distance.

It was nearly dawn when he stumbled back into his hotel room, the wound on his left arm freshly patched. It still twinged a little, but it was mostly healed-one of the benefits to living in this shitty system.

He glanced down at his bed to discover a note written with terrible penmanship-an apology from the enforcer he'd defeated earlier. _Least there's one happy ending_, Spike thought, and only then glanced at Jet Black, who was dressed in a nice white suit and sitting in a chair in the corner with his chin in his hand.

"You found me," Spike said.

"Wasn't easy," Jet replied. "You went missing right after we separated."

"Been busy," Spike said.

"Yeah, I noticed that," Jet said. "Your transport got boarded by slavers, right?"

Spike said nothing, but grabbed the bottle from the dresser and took a swig. He closed his eyes and relished the feel of liquid fire scorching down his throat.

"Three slaving rings destroyed, Spike?" Jet asked, when the silence had begun to stretch.

"Four," Spike answered. "Just finished the last one."

"What happened to you, Spike?" Jet asked.

Spike shrugged. "Nothing, really. But everyone else..."

They were both silent this time. Jet cleared his throat. "I've tried to keep them off your trail."

"Them?"

"The police. They've been interested. Some of your slaver buddies had friends in high places. I got some of them, but..."

"Should have let them come after me," Spike said. "Could've used the challenge."

The silence started to stretch again. Spike took another pull from the bottle.

"I got here on the _Bebop_," Jet said.

Spike swallowed and turned towards him. "What?"

"They gave her back to me. Along with the Swordfish and the Red Tail. And a couple upgrades."

Spike thought about that for a moment-about having access to the Swordfish again. The ships themselves were far faster here, but nothing could quite outmaneuver his Swordfish. To have her back again...

"That's not all," Jet said. "They think they can get us back."

_Julia_.

Her image swam before him with such force that he dropped the bottle. Instead of bending to clean it up he put a hand to his eyes and tried not to think of running his hand through that hair.

_I couldn't find her, anyway._

_But the possibility was there. The chance. To go back to Sol would mean..._

_Julia._

"Why are they helping us?" Spike said.

"Because," Jet said. "They need a couple of Cowboys."

Spike stared down at the whiskey soaking into the carpet and then glanced over to the bed-to the note left behind the enforcer he'd beaten up.

_A bounty, huh._

He could still do a lot of good here. Could take out a couple more of these damn rings. Xiang Bei had to have associates, he could...he could...

He could regain the possibility that he'd find Julia one day.

"Alright," Spike said. "What's the job?"


	4. Session 4: Play the Game

**Session Four: Play the Game**

"Wash has a job?" Janyne repeated.

"Is it really so hard to believe?" Wash asked.

"Yes," Simon said.

"Kinda," Kaylee agreed.

Wash scoffed and leaned back into his chair, folding his arms across his chest. Zoe put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. The crew were gathered in _Serenity's_ dining room, save for Book and Inara, who were taking care of River.

"Now, now, credit where credit is due," Mal said. "It's a good gig. Just listen to the man." Damn lucrative, too. Hmm, lucrative. That's a funny word.

"I have contacts!" Wash insisted. "All sorts of...people. On the underbelly of...things."

"What underbelly, dear?" Zoe asked.

Tears swelled in Wash's eyes. "Marriage!" Wash exclaimed. "You're supposed to-!"

"Wash, we don't have all day, " Mal said.

Wash grimaced. "Contacts!" he repeated.

"Those are kind of outdated," Simon said. "Eye surgery's pretty easy, I could take care of that for you."

"Simon?" Kaylee asked.

Simon shook his head. "Sorry," he said. "Got distracted."

"A little focus!" Mal said, raising his voice. "Wash, get on with it."

Wash nodded. "Alright. I have a friend-we served together when we learning to fly. He made some way better career decisions-"

"Don't think we need the commentary," Mal said.

"-and got involved in piloting luxury liners around. You guys know the Soryev Gambling Company?"

"Gambling?" Jayne repeated, perking up.

"Way out of your price range," Inara said, sweeping into the kitchen and digging around for food. Mal glanced back at her, got a fleeting impression of swirling skirts and flowing fabric, and then swallowed and looked at Wash.

"How's she doing?" Simon asked.

"Very well, Simon," Inara replied. "Book's teaching her the finer points of cards."

Simon stared at her for a moment. "River went on a gambling streak when she was eight," he said. "Took my dad for two hundred credits and got grounded by my mom when she found out."

Inara laughed. "That's probably why he's getting cleaned out."

"Can we please cut the chitchat!" Mal exclaimed.

"Soryev runs a series of luxury casino ships that tour exotic locations," Zoe said to Jayne.

"Thus putting them in a fine position to take the hard-stolen cash of rich Alliance folk," Mal said.

"And this month is the grand opening of their newest ship, the _Geppetto_," Wash said. "It's the first of its kind-save for pilots and security, it has absolutely no staff. Every system is automated."

"What's the fun in that?" Jayne asked.

"Well, wouldn't want to have the cream of society mingling with the less fortunate," Mal said.

"The tech running the place is all top-of-the line," Wash said. "It can't be hacked, and the vaults which keep the money can only be opened by licensed Soryev personnel or by the use of chips to retrieve your winnings from otherwise-unbreakable machines."

"Doesn't sound like much of a job," Jayne said.

"Oh, but it is!" Wash said. "Because those chips will release the money-in Alliance notes, if requested-to anyone who happens to put chips into the automated banking machines."

There was a moment of silence from around the table.

"Anyone?" Kaylee repeated.

"Anyone," Wash said.

"And for a thirty percent fee," Mal finished. "The higher-ups in Soryev will happily look the other way, long as we ain't too greedy."

"What's too greedy?" Zoe asked.

"More than 1.5 million," Mal said.

The silence that hung over the table was much more powerful this time around.

"1.5 million?" Kaylee squeaked.

"No ruttin' way," Jayne said.

"Well, minus the 30%," Mal said.

"Honey, you did good," Zoe said.

"Always do," Wash replied.

"We get in," Mal said. "Take as many of the chips as we can, and get out before security gets to us. Have to sit on the money for a bit afterwards-don't want anyone getting too suspicious-but..."

1.5 million. Could do a lot with that kind of money. Could overhaul the ship and float on comfortably for some time. Take the strain off.

"Why don't we play our way through?" Simon asked.

They glanced towards him. He was looking toward Kaylee. "If we could rig one of the tables, we could take most of the money," Simon said. "You're pretty good with machines, I figure-"

"With machines, Simon," Kaylee said. "Hardware. I can't just slide under a table and go to work. I think they might notice."

"And software-wise it can't be done," Wash said. "The security systems on the all the tables are really good."

Simon looked a little downtrodden. Mal cleared his throat. "Not a bad thought, doctor," he added. "But it'd take too much time to implement. Best we get in, pay off who we need to, and get out."

Inara left the kitchen. Mal breathed a little easier.


	5. Session 5: Killer Queen

**Session Five: Killer Queen**

"Blackjack," said the table, as it played out the three of clubs that brought her total to 21. "Player 3 wins again."

"Holy hell!" exclaimed the heavyset blonde man sitting on her right. "You cheatin', miss?"

Faye Valentine giggled and winked. "What can I say?" she said. "Lady Luck's in love with me tonight."

"Lady Luck, run amok, make machines pay!" Ed squealed into her ear. Faye giggled again and adjusted her earring, trying to minimize the ringing in her ear she got every time Ed spoke.

It had taken a lot of time and effort to get here: win the tickets in a private game, get the shuttle to take her here, and get this ridiculous white dress. She looked damn good, of course, but it was too big, and made her feel confined in its intricate folds.

Still, she was currently sitting on 500,000 credits worth of chips. Not a bad haul, and she suspected she could make still more.

"You might want to get out, though," she said, smirking at the blonde man. "Luck doesn't seem to be on your side tonight."

The man scoffed and whirled back to the table. "Can't say I blame Luck for straying," he said. "But she'll come back my way."

Faye leaned forward and put her cheek in her hand. "Let's see about that."

A gunshot rang out, and a ripple of screams surged slowly out from the source. She whirled about as a second gunshot went off, imposing a silence on the panicked wealthy.

"Bullet, bullet, where are you?" Ed sang.

"Pipe down, Ed," Faye hissed, ripping open her purse and hastily pulling together the different pieces.

"Now, now," someone said, his voice very at ease. "Ain't no reason to be panicking. This is a gambling ship, after all. Just consider this a bad hand."

They began to move through the audience-two in heavy brown coats, and one especially muscular specimen in a very tight t-shirt. He had a brutish face, carried a heavy rifle, and stopped and stared at her as soon as he caught sight of her.

_Oh hell_.

She turned back to the table, hastily dropping the pieces together under the chair as something jabbed at her back. "Your chips," he said. "All of'em."

_Easy. Won't take much longer._

She turned back to him and smiled, popping her chest out a little to show out the magnificent window of cleavage this dress left her. "Surely we can work something out?" she asked.

He looked her up and down, leering at her. "Well..."

_Now_.

One kick and one punch later, and he'd dropped his rifle and fallen to the ground, clutching at his groin. She turned around, slammed the last piece into place, and whirled back to face him, submachine gun in hand. The panicked rich folk around her took off running, heading for the doors all around them. "Okay," she said. "Let's work this out."

Something clicked behind her. "Easy," said the same casual voice as before. "Don't need any fuss."

"Too bad," she said, twisting and kicking out. The man in the coat stumbled backwards, then threw himself to one side as she opened fire.

"Captain!" shouted a stronger female voice. Faye whirled again, still firing, but the woman in question-dark skin and deadly eyes-zigzagged forwards, and pumped two quick shots from the shotgun she held in her hands. Faye threw herself to one side, still firing.

_Click click click._

_Shit!_

She grabbed a chair and hurled it forwards; it smashed into the woman's chest and sent her stumbling backwards. Faye closed in and knocked the shotgun from her hand, but the hard-eyed woman seemed unfazed; she twisted and slammed an elbow home into Faye's stomach. The air rushed out of her in an explosion of pain, and she fell away.

_Shit shit shit!_

As she fell, her hand closed along the long metal barrel of the shotgun the woman had just held. With a gasp she thrust herself up and slammed the stock of it into the side of the woman's head, knocking her to one side. Using her momentum, she swung back around. The man with the long brown coat—the woman had referred to him as Captain—was back on his feet, gun pulling level with her. She knocked it from his hand, then slammed the stock of the gun into his chest and, for good measure, whirled and smashed it into the brutish one she'd first taken down, knocking him back to the ground as he started to rise. She stepped forward, flipped the shotgun around in her hand, and jammed the barrel into the downed man's chest.

"Don't move!" she called. "Or he's dead."

"Don't move!" the brutish man cried.

She glanced over her shoulder. The deadly-eyed woman had drawn a handgun from somewhere on her person, and her Captain had grabbed his own gun again at some point; both were now pointed at her.

"Ah, Jane," the Captain said, putting a hand to his heart. "We'll mourn your passing."

"You fought well, soldier," the woman agreed. "Rest easy."

_Oh hell._

"Oh, come off it Mal!" Jayne scoffed, but then both of them cocked their guns and he began to squirm beneath her gun. "No ruttin' way you can do this to me, I-"

"Stop!" someone shouted. Faye looked away from their little standoff, as did the other two. The doors all around the floor of the casino were choked with people fleeing, but now, heading against this current, were men in dark suits, guns in hand. They were stymied in their efforts to get through, but they'd be here soon.

"Damn it!" the Captain said. "Miss-"

Faye found herself caught off-guard by his eyes—gentle but insistent, not pleading so much as asking for her understanding. Well, what the hell, right? Camaraderie among thieves, or something. More than enough to go around.

She lifted the shotgun away from Jayne's chest and tossed it underhand to the woman—Mal?—who caught it deftly. "Good luck," she said.

"Not so far," he mumbled, and then set off, the deadly-eyed woman in tow.

The man rose to his feet, nursing his bruises, and mumbled, "You'll pay."

"Jane's kind of a girly name," she said, smirking.

He grimaced and went running after the other two. Faye returned to her table, pulled a cigarette from her purse, and took a seat as she lit it. No more winnings tonight, but five hundred thousand credits would keep her afloat for awhile, she could sit back, figure out her plan...

"Boys finally get here?" she called, as one of the nearly-identical men with neat hair and dark suits began to fan out around her. "I'm afraid I already took care of things for you. There a reward?"

"For hacking our machines and stealing?" one of the men asked.

Faye smiled. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. "Won these from a friend in a card game, just a streak of-"

"You've got quite a record, Faye Valentine," the same man said.

Hmm. She'd used a fake name when getting onto the ship.

She sighed. "Do I have time to finish my cigarette?"

The man exchanged glances with those surrounding her, then shrugged. She took a long drag, so deep it burned half of what was left to ash, and then glanced up at the ceiling—particularly at the chandeliers all around, which illuminated everything in a soft golden glow. "Well," she said. "Guess that's lights out."

"Lights out, night now!" Ed sang, and in an instant everything went dark. She kicked herself away from the table, rolled to her feet, struck at the weakness in the circle around her—just a single man, looking away from her. He stumbled, fell, and she sprang over his body and raced for the exit.

She slammed her stomach into a table she couldn't see in the dark, then immediately tripped over a chair she couldn't see. This turned out to be for the best; gunshots rang out as she fell, along with a stream of yells, curses, and screams.

"HOLD YOUR FIRE" the same man who she'd talked to shouted. "WE'LL JUST HURT OURSELVES!"

"Ed," she whispered, inching along the round and wincing at her aches and pains. "How long 'til they get lights back?"

"Their computer persons are no match for Ed person!" Ed said. She dimly heard Ein bark in the background, and Ed added, "And Ein, too!"

"Ein's a dog, not a person," Faye mumbled, crawling towards the exit.

"Ein is a dog person!"

The lights began to flickered above her. Faye froze. "Ed," she whispered.

"Hehe," Ed said, a little sheepishly. "They're doing good."

Faye gritted her teeth and prepared a choice insult, and then the lights flickered again and she decided there wasn't time. She scrambled for the exit as the lights flickered fully to life. "THERE SHE IS!"

She burst through the door as gunshots broke out behind her, her skin crawling as the wind from a passing bullet whistled over her neck. "Ed!" she cried. "Lock this place down!" The door behind her slammed shut, and a thick metal shutter dropped into place.

Good. That would buy her some time. But this was their ship, and her shuttle wouldn't get her very far. She hissed through her teeth as she sprinted down one of the long halls. She needed a way out, needed...

A ship. Perhaps like the one that she assumed that handsome captain commanded.

"Ed," she said. "Patch me through to their ship."

"Ship slip zip?" Ed asked.

Faye hissed through her teeth. "The ship that just came in, Ed. The one that robbed the place."

"Patching, hatching, birdies go fly!" There was a moment of silence, and then Ed added, "You're in!"

"Hello?" Faye shouted. There was a slightly longer moment of silence, as Faye's pulse began to race., and then a chipper voice said, "How have you taken over my speaker system?"

Faye ignored the question. "Is this the ship that...that Jane guy was on?"

"Jane?" repeated the voice in her ear. "Yeah, I guess. Could you just talk through our comm?"

"No!" Ed squawked. "Loud sound, big sound!"

"Who the hell is that?" the voice on the other line asked.

"I met your crew inside," Faye said. "I need a ride out of here."

"Oh, hell!" came the voice of the captain. "Wash, shut her out now. We're leaving."

"Oh no you're not!" Faye yelled. "Ed!"

"Computer go bye!" Ed yelled

There was a tense silence. "Wash," the voice of the captain said. "How come we got no lights?"

"Got no controls, either," Wash replied. "Ship's systems been cut."

"You're kidding me."

"Boys," Faye cut in. "Clock's ticking for all of us."

"Hell," spat the captain. "Fine. You got a shuttle?"

"Yeah," Faye said.

"We'll find a way for you to dock with us. Would you please-"

"Certainly. Ed?"

"Computer say hi!" Ed shouted.

"And remember," Faye said. "If your ship's not waiting for me-"

"Yeah, yeah." Faye smiled and sprinted on. Getting back to her shuttle would be a peace of cake. And from there...

Hadn't made her fortune, but she had a bit of money, and no debt. And now she even had a ride out of here.

"Lady luck's in love with me tonight," she hummed.


	6. Session 6: Breathrough

Though Spike wasn't going to say it out loud, it was damn nice to be back on the _Bebop._ He didn't know what the Alliance had done to the ship while they'd held it, but they'd left no trace of their work—the living room, the gravity wheel, the bridge, they were each as he remembered them, down to the half-completed game of Go between him and Jet saved to the computer's memory. It was not the only game of Go saved to the computer—there was one between Jet and Faye, one between Faye and Ed, and one, oddly enough, between Jet and Ein.

He had brought this one up when Jet walked onto the bridge, studying a screen in his hand. He glanced up at Spike, then narrowed his eyes. "Spike," he said. "What are you doing?"

Spike scratched his chin. "Are you...are you losing this game?"

Jet sighed and grabbed Spike by the back of his jacket, hauling him away from the game. "Take that as a yes," Spike mumbled.

"Shut up," Jet said. "Blue Sun's forwarded us some intel." He moved to the computer near the front and depressed a couple keys: a screen burst into existence—a camera view of a casino floor, but not a single worker in sight. "This is the _Gepetto_," Jet said. "An automated casino cruise."

Suddenly gunshots went off, and three shapes moved with guns through the crowd, collecting chips. "Who are they?" Spike asked.

Jet shrugged. "Crew of the _Serenity_," he said. He tapped their faces and drew up three close-up pictures. "These two used to fight against the Alliance."

"Browncoats?" Spike said, studying them—Malcolm Reynolds and Zoe Aleyne Washburne. "Met a few while I was tracking slavers. They're not bad people—a couple of them helped me out."

"Nightmare to prosecute," Jet grunted. "They'll threaten to shoot you over a parking ticket."

"I can respect that," Spike said.

"They reminded me of you," Jet agreed.

"And that one," he said, jerking his head to the third picture—the brutish Jayne Cobb.

"Career criminal," Jet said. "Murder, robbery, arson...he's run the gamut."

"So we've got a bead on the _Serenity_," Spike said. "Should make this easier."

"It gets better," Jet said. The image started playing again, and suddenly the brutish Jayne was fighting a woman in an overly large dress. Spike's eyes narrowed.

"You're kidding me," Spike said.

"Nope."

"She was on the ship?" he asked. "She fought them."

"Gets better," Jet repeated. He watched (with a slight grin) as the guards tried to apprehend Faye, and then the lights went out.

"Looks like Ed's with her," Spike said.

Jet sighed. "That worries me. Faye's a bad influence."

"And we're not?" Spike asked.

"It's a matter of degree."

The image changed—an exterior camera showing a shuttle moving towards a Firefly-class ship.

"Let me guess," Spike grunted.

Jet nodded. "She's on the _Serenity_."

"Small universe." Spike fished a cigarette from his pocket and put into his mouth, then began to dig around for a lighter. A flame appeared near his head; Spike spared a glance at Jet, holding the lighter out for him, then lit up and took a deep drag, relishing the curl of hot smoke down his throat and into his lungs.

"Too bad for her," he said, after a moment.

Jet chuckled. "Somehow I knew you wouldn't be bothered."

Spike took another drag. "Not by her," he agreed.

Jet arched an eyebrow. "By what?"

"Jet," Spike said. "What the hell are we doing?"

"Bounty hunting," Jet replied. "Like we used to."

"No," Spike said. He looked up at the sky. "Where we come from...the police have no teeth. You know that better than anyone."

Jet grimaced. "Yeah."

"But here..." He shook his head. "I've seen what the Alliance can do, Jet. They're not like the ISSP. They're not even like Red Dragon. They're organized, they're adaptable, and they're idealistic." He took a third drag. "What the hell are they doing asking us to do their work for them?"

Jet pursed his lips and folded his arms in front of his chest. "Could be a case of an ant and a lion," Jet said.

"So you hire an ant to chase an ant?" Spike asked.

Jet shook his head. "More than that. Core economy's been on a major upswing—trade's up, cash is flowing. But there have been cuts across the board—our budget got slashed by 30%."

"They give a reason?" Spike asked.

Jet shook his head again. "None. But I heard rumors—supplies, scientists, resources, all going to something. Some kinda project."

Spike grimaced. "Huh." He thought for a moment—about the two of them, and about budget cuts, and about the mysterious project that was tying up so much of the Alliance's resources. "And what about them?" he said. "Where do they fit into all this?"

"Who knows?" Jet said. "But we've got the _Bebop_. And they say they can send us home."

Home. To wretched Sol, but to the chance of Julia. He didn't know if they could really send them back into the past, but then, he hadn't believed they could hop so far through space and time in the first place. Why not?

No need to worry about the other things. He could find Julia. That was all that mattered.

"Okay," Spike said. "We got a rough destination?"

"We do."

"Let's get moving." Spike took one final drag of his cigarette, ground it out underfoot, and then sank down at the go table. "And let's finish that game," Spike said. "If Ein was beating you..."


	7. Session 7: Heaven for Everyone

The woman's ruttin' shuttle was nearly done docking with their ruttin' ship, and Jayne had more than a few words to exchange with that choice bitch.

"She can't stay on this ship, Mal!" Jayne growled, shouldering Vera as he stalked towards the emergency shuttle port at the top of the ship, near one of the doors that led out to the exterior for emergency repairs (the same door that one Jubal Early had used not so many months ago).

"I don't see as how we've got much choice, Jayne," Mal groused. "She shut us down. I reckon she could do it again."

"I'd have to agree, sir," Zoe said.

"And I think you two have gone soft," Jayne hissed.

Mal exchanged an amused glance with Zoe. "Us, Jayne?" he asked. "As I recall, neither of us got beat up by a woman half our size. Ain't that right, Zoe?"

"As far as I can recall, sir."

Jayne felt embarrassment burning its way up his throat. "Oh, come off it," he yelled. "You both fought her!"

"Yes, yes we did," Zoe agreed. "But neither of us got taken hostage."

"Yes, I think we acquitted ourselves quite well!" Mal said cheerfully. "All things considered. Though I must admit I did not expect a girl in a dress like that to pack such a punch."

"I don't think any of us did, sir. Least of all Jayne."

"Which is funny, given his name."

"Gorram it, Mal!" Jayne hissed, slamming his fist into a wall. "This is not a joke."

"Well, I don't much like having her aboard," Mal agreed. "But I gotta admit, it is pretty damn funny."

"Based on what I heard, I'd have to agree," Wash said, clambering up the ladder from his and Zoe's room. "You got beat up by a girl, Jayne?"

Jayne scowled and stomped off towards the emergency shuttle port. That little bitch had caught him by surprise, lulled him in like one of those women in old tales just so she could drown him. He was having none of it.

He reached the slightly larger door set away from the quarters of the other crewmates and slammed a fist into it. "Open up!" he barked.

There was a moment's silence and then a chipper voice said through the intercom, "And if I'm not done docking? How long do you think you can survive in space?"

"You're done docking!" he shouted, but suddenly doubts caught ahold of his stomach in a cold grip and he turned back to Wash. "Ain't she?"

"Well, theoretically," Wash said. "But then, she did a number on our computers. Could be they're lying to me."

"Well, that's a comforting thought," Mal mumbled.

There was a giggle from the door intercom. "Oh, relax," she said. "It's finished."

The door slid open. Jayne scrambled and lifted Vera up, ready to explain to this woman just what her position was. He was caught off-guard by the thin, raggedly-clad bundle of limbs that sprung from the shuttle's interior and onto his head, knocking him back on his ass and Vera from his hands.

"New ship, Firefly, time to fly!" shouted the pink-hairled child, and then launched herself off of Jayne's shoulders and into the pipes on the ceiling, swinging from light fixtures and whatever else she could wrap her fingers around. A second later, a small dog with its belly low to the ground came trotting out. It gave Jayne a bizarrely sympathetic look and then went off after the kid.

"Sorry about them," the woman said. Jayne staggered to his feet and found that the woman was still wearing the shredded remains of her dress, but now had a very old-looking handgun in her hand. Although it wasn't pointed at anyone, Jayne remembered the hail of gunfire she'd unleashed upon them, and had no doubt that if he went for his gun she'd be able to shoot him down long before he reached it.

"Now, hold on," Mal said. "I don't recall saying you could bring your kid or your dog."

"They sort of come with the shuttle," Faye said. "Besides, she's not my kid and that's not my dog."

"That was a girl?" Wash said, craning his head to follow the clanging, barking sounds down the corridor. "I thought it was, like, a scarecrow with ADD."

"If it needs food, I don't care what it is," Mal said. "We can't afford to take on more crew. Especially with the losses you gave to us."

"The losses I gave to you!" the woman said indignantly. "What about the ones you gave to me?"

"What losses would those be?" Zoe asked.

"It took weeks to earn my way onto that ship," the woman said. "I was cheating my way through the system. If it hadn't been for you, they never would have caught me."

"And if it hadn't been for you, we'd have walked off that boat with millions of credits lining our pockets," Mal said.

"We didn't have to fight," she said. "Could have left each other alone."

"You looked as rich as anyone else," Mal said.

"Richer, with that pile of chips in front of you!" Jayne yelled, rising to his feet but not quite daring to reach for Vera.

"Well, seems like we both got dealt a bad hand," she said. "Misread each other, made calls too big to keep."

"Oh, poker metaphors," Wash said. "Because we lost our shot at millions of credits when you interfered with us taking a gambling ship. That's funny."

"Like hell it is!" Jayne yelled.

"Sad as this is, I have to agree with Jayne," Mal said. "We were counting on that credit haul."

"So was I," Faye said. "We'll just have to make it up to each other."

"How would you do that?" Jayne asked, but his eyes flickered down to the spectacular window of cleavage the dress offered. The woman lifted her gun.

"Not like that," she said.

"Then how do you plan on helping out?" Zoe asked, her voice flat and deadly.

"Well, I'll lend a hand with your jobs," the woman said. "And all I ask is food to eat and a place to sleep. Seems more than fair to me."

"Except for the minor fact that you ruined our last job?" Mal said.

The woman smirked and lowered her gun. "No one's hurt and we got away clean," she said. "Could have been a much worse hand. I'm Faye Valentine."

"Malcolm Reynolds," Mal said. "Captain. We're not done here, ma'am."

"Oh, I'm sure we're not," she agreed, not even looking at Jayne. "But I'm sure we're both tired and in need of a shower and a change of clothes. We can talk more when dinner's ready." She took a single step backwards, and the door slid shut.

"Where the hell do you think you're going!" Jayne yelled, slamming his fist into the door so that is dim impacts reverberated down the ship. "We're not done talking."

"I hate to say it, but I think we are," Mal grunted. "Leastaways, 'til dinner." Jayne turned his head and saw Mal walking down the hall. "Three new gorram mouths to feed..."

"I have to admit, the prospect of a shower does sound nice," Zoe said.

"Especially with company?" Wash said softly.

"Oh, I could think of worse things..."

The two of them sauntered off down the corridor. Jayne gritted his teeth and slammed another fist into the door. "You come out here!" he said. "You come out and...and...!

But Jayne could not think of what he could force this woman to do, and after five minutes of cursing at the door had to admit that she probably wasn't coming.


	8. Session 8: Going Slightly Mad

Joy. Then fear. Now something else.

She didn't care.

Huddled behind the crates they'd picked up for transport to an Outer Rim world, River Tam let her mind drift through the ship, bounce off the thoughts of the crew—off the low, cheerful lust radiating from Zoe and Wash, circling the enraged frustration of Jayne Cobb, lightly dancing over the worries of the Captain. There were new thoughts—a cheerful someone, light-hearted, free.

Drifting through space. Drifting free from her body. And then...

Another of those beats, those pulses, those sledgehammers with teeth driving into her brain and washing away everything but the pain. She twitched, whimpered, tightened her arms around her knees and tried to go blanks, as blank as the crates around her, as blank as a meaningless object, floating through space without will. It was easier without will. She could pretend those savaged fingers were not digging claws into her brain, trying to drag her back.

And then it was gone, and she was left cowering, crying quietly. She didn't know how much more she could take. She wasn't sure how she'd lasted this long.

And then a wet tongue rolled across her face. She blinked, momentarily back among the cows. But that was months ago, wasn't it? Or had these months of pain and confusion been a dream?

But no. Here it was in front of her. A small, anxious-looking dog. A Welsh Corgi. Pretty rare these days—only the rich had them, and only on Core Worlds.

_Are you alright?_

River blinked.

"I'm dreaming," River said.

_You are? You look awake._

No, dogs didn't talk, and dogs definitely didn't think. Well, they did think—little trickling thoughts, flashes of image and confusion, startlingly loud and simple. Barking thoughts. They didn't think like this.

"This can't be real," she said.

_Why not?_

"Dogs can't speak."

The little dog barked.

"Was that a joke?" she asked.

_Yes. Did you like it?_

River put a hand to her head. "More damaged than I realized," she said. "Will have to critically reevaluate all my perceptions. Maybe I was never in the Academy. Maybe there isn't a _Serenity_. Maybe I'm in a psych ward."

_This seems real to me_.

"A talking dog does not make for sufficient empirical evidence.

_But I'm not a talking dog._

"A thinking dog."

_Yes._

"Is that supposed to be more acceptable to me?"

_Why not? You can hear my thoughts. Is that so much weirder than me having them?_

River frowned. "Flummoxing."

_Why?_

"That makes sense."

_I know_.

River put hands to her temples, and the dog sidled up to her. The warm bulk of him was strangely comforting, and almost without thinking she put a hand on his side.

"I'm River," she said.

_Hello, Rivergirl! I'm Ein!_

"Where did we find you?"

_Faye-lady brought us._

"Us?

"Ein!" someone shouted. "Where are you!"

_Here!_ Ein called, and at the same time barked twice. _Here, Edlove!_

River looked up, still frowning. Someone was here? But she hadn't felt anyone...

A bundle of thin limbs and wild pink hair scuttled around the corner, crabwalking with astonishing speed. She came to a stop and grinned at River.

"Ein!" she said. "You made a new friend!"

Ein barked again and hopped into River's lap. _Edlove this is Rivergirl!_

"River?" Ed said, cocking her head to one side. "River, shiver, liver, quiver?"

This was bizarre. Unusual. Unprecedented. Thinking dogs and girls with thoughts that weren't quiet but were outside of what she could quite read. Like background noise, shuttles roaring through the atmosphere, wind in the trees, invisible trace of something bigger, harder to understand.

"Ed?" River asked, and then on a whim, "Said, bed, dead?"

Ed's eyes went wide. "Dead!" she squealed, scuttling back. "Ein!"

Ein have a little shake. _Not dead, Edlove. Never dead._

Ed stopped in midmotion, here eyes narrowing. "Mean joke," she said.

"Oh," River said, a little confused. "Sorry."

Ed nodded enthusiastically, then her face split into a wicked grin. "Want Ed to be dead?" Ed asked. "Then catch me!"

Ed went scuttling away. Ein hopped off River's lap and looked into her face. _You're it_, he informed her somberly, and went chasing after Ed, barking all the while.

It? Like a game?

She looked down at her thin body. Bruised arms from where she clung to herself too tightly. Too thin because sometimes when she was eating she tasted death. Didn't want to throw up. Terrible it. Atrocious choice. An inefficiently designed predator.

"No," she said, and sat back down.

But only so she could switch to a crabwalk and go scuttling after Ed.


	9. Session 9: One Vision

After a day as long as this one, nothing felt better than a long shower. Fortunately were her temporary traveling companions, she kept a large supply of water stocked for just such occasions, and had a very efficient recycling system built into her bathroom to retain 90% of the used water.

So, she could afford to luxuriate a little. And after the hard fighting she'd been through—with some of her new companions, no less—she needed it. Hot water coursed over her soaped-up body, and she relished it.

Right up until the moment something fuzzed from the door to her shuttle.

Faye sighed, flicked off the water, and grabbed at a nearby towel, tucking it around her in two deft moves. She swept towards her door and slid it open. Mal was standing on the other side, a hand looped through his belt. When he saw her, his eyes darted down for just a fraction of a second, then returned to his face.

Well. She minded a little less than when Jayne had done it.

"Miss Valentine," he said, inclining his head.

"Mr. Reynolds," she responded. "Do you make a habit of bothering your female passengers while they're half-clothed?"

"Oh I do like to make a nuisance of myself to our shuttle passengers," Mal admitted. "But given how many of them spend time unclothed I try not to bother them during business hours."

Faye frowned. "What?"

"Oh, we've a Companion renting one of our other shuttles."

Faye's eyebrows arched. "A Companion?" she repeated. Prestigious, that. Too prestigious for a Firefly-class transport crewed by robbers. Then again, who was she to judge?

"I understand your skepticism," Mal said. "But we've got more than few characters in this crew."

"Now you've got a few more," Faye said, smiling.

"See, that's the thing," Mal said, taking a single sidling step toward her—so that his foot was in the doorway of her shuttle, she noticed. "My crew has made my life plenty interesting enough, and I've no need to make it more so. We've got enough food to afford one big meal, but after that I suggest you take your girl and your dog and you get off my ship."

"You suggest?" Faye said, smirking but suddenly conscious of the fact that her nearest weapon was at least ten feet away. "Mr. Reynolds, I'm not sure I'm inclined to follow your advice."

"I would make it an order, but I don't want you shutting down my ship again," Mal said.

"And what's to stop me from taking off and leaving you to float on in the dark?" Faye asked.

"The same thing that stopped you from shooting us when security came in," Mal said. "See, you didn't have to do that, and of all the scammers and schemers I've met, they wouldn't have. So why did you?"

"Only way I was going to keep my credits," Faye said, but the back of her neck was prickling in a way that had nothing to do with the temperature of the ship.

"Maybe, maybe not," Mal said. "But the point, Miss Valentine, is that if you go I think I can trust you not to screw us over too badly."

Faye hesitated for a moment. "I'm not near a safe port," she said.

"Had my pilot plot us a long course through the dark," Mal said. "Take us in a direction they wouldn't expect. We'll arrive at Persephone in two days time. Girl like you should be able to charter a ship out without too much trouble.

Faye pursed her lips. It was true, she'd more or less achieved her goal—gotten a ship away from the _Geppetto_. She hadn't made the killing she'd been hoping for, but she could figure something else out some other day. Persephone wasn't the most hospitable place, but she thought she had the funds and the skills to get herself out.

"And you?" she asked. "Is Persephone a safe harbor for you?"

Mal laughed. "Not really. Pissed off a few of the wrong people, and the Soryev company's got ties there. We'll do a quick flyby and then head somewhere else."

Faye smiled. "Is that so?" she asked.

"It is."

"You really are a gentleman, Mr. Reynolds," Faye said.

Mal blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"You heard me."

"I've been called many things in my life, Miss. Gentleman is not among them."

"Better get used to it," she said. "After all, you are trying to save my life."

Mal stared at her. "Scuse me?"

"Don't play dumb," she said, leaning on the nearby wall. Mal's eyes flickered down and then back up, and Faye's smile widened.

"Who's playing?" he asked.

"You're taking me to Persephone just to get me off the ship?" Faye asked. "That doesn't sound likely. Maybe you're trying to avoid trouble from me and maybe you aren't, but it seems to me it's more like you're trying to avoid getting me in trouble _with _you."

Mal flushed. "I-I don't know what you're sayin'."

"I'm saying that you've shifted your whole ship to get me out of here quicker," Faye said. "I don't know if it's to protect me or to protect your crew, but it's not about you." She smiled. "Very gallant, Mr. Reynolds."

Mal shook his head. "Just better to get you off my ship," he mumbled. "You're trouble enough as it is."

Faye laughed. "Good thing we're not playing poker, Mr. Reynolds," she said. "I don't think you could bluff to save your skin." She took a step back towards him, so they were closer together. "I do appreciate your concern, though."

Mal grimaced and took a step backwards. "Ain't you I'm concerned about."

"And again, Mr. Reynolds," she replied, still smiling. "You're a terrible bluffer." Now that Mal's foot was out of the doorway, she was able to press the button the side and slide it closed.

"Wait just a-" Mal started, but then the door was shut. She smiled and sauntered back to her shower.

But she'd only been in there two minutes when the buzzer sounded again. There was still soap in her hair, so Faye decided to keep waiting several seconds as she rinsed it out. Then she threw the still-damp towel over her again and walked back to the door.

"Listen, Mr. Reynolds-" she started, as the door slid open, but then stopped. The woman on the other side of the door was wearing a gown of loose red fabric that didn't cling anywhere yet somehow suggested and implied the contours of an elegant body. Her eyes looked familiar, though Faye couldn't be sure where she'd seen them.

"Were you waiting on Mal?" the woman asked.

"He bothered me earlier," Faye said, leaning to one side.

The woman laughed. "Yes, he does that. I'm Inara."

"Faye." The woman's eyes were too familiar—they made her feel uncomfortable. Piercing was the wrong word for such eyes. Those eyes were comprehensive. They wrapped around you, found the cracks in your defenses, but then gently trailed their fingers over them, examined you like a fine antique. Your cracks weren't weaknesses to be exploited, but fascinating traits to be examined, like the contours of a virus beneath a microscope, or a bug in a case.

"What did he want?" Inara asked.

"What's it matter to you?" Faye asked, defensive before this woman's gaze.

Inara shrugged. "I suppose it doesn't," she agreed. "I never know what he wants on my shuttle, either."

Soft, kindly, neither probing too hard nor acting disinterested, but it just made Faye more uncomfortable. She got the sense that she could never bluff this woman, that she would know immediately if she was being lied to or if Faye was hiding something. What was more, she got the sense that this woman might not care even if she did know. Worse, she might understand.

How infuriating.

"To warn me off," Faye said bluntly. "He tried to get me out of here."

Faye was about to ask the other woman to leave her alone, but then those eyes left her as Inara sank against the opposite wall and sighed.

"Yes, he does that too," she said.

Now _this _was more interesting. "Does he?" she asked.

She nodded. "Didn't want me to take the shuttle in the first place. He's had me clear out of here more times than I can count."

"Why don't you go?" Faye asked.

Inara hesitated, then lifted those eyes back up to Faye and gave a beatific smile. Faye had never been attracted to a woman before, and she wasn't now. But she could suddenly understand how Companions could be so influential and command so much respect. That smile was both give and take. It instantly made you feel like you were a part of something special, something both timeless and fragile. It made you want to talk. It made you want to share a part of yourself.

"This is home," Inara said simply. "Or as close to home as I've ever found."

And then Faye knew where she'd seen those eyes before, why they were so familiar. Normally, Spike Spiegel's eyes were bored, or weary, or mocking, or bright. But sometimes, when he was really serious and really focused on you, he looked just like that. Eyes that encased you in the awareness of the person they belonged to, so that you felt naked and totally understood and a little ashamed and a little proud but never judged.

She put a hand to her mouth.

"Are you alright?" Inara asked, still watching her with that all-encompassing gaze. "You're...you're very pale. Did I say something wrong?"

"N-no," Faye managed. "N-no, I...I think I'm just light-headed from the shower." She gave a weak smile. "You're joining us for dinner?"

"Yes, I suppose I am."

"I'll see you then. Have to get ready."

She slid the door closed before Inara could say anything else, then sunk quietly to the floor and wrapped her arms around her legs. Those eyes would have been haunting enough on their own, reminding her of the universe she'd left behind. But why had that damn woman had to say those words. Home? She knew the exact feeling Inara described, the feeling of belonging that was a little sad and a little happy but basically good because they were people and they couldn't always trust each other and it wasn't always right but she...

She closed her eyes. The _Bebop _was long gone, locked away in some Alliance storehouse. She'd heard Jet was making waves as part of the Alliance law enforcement, and had heard nothing of Spike in years. Even if she'd wanted to return to the _Bebop—_which she didn't, she absolutely didn't—it wasn't there to be found.

And besides, this universe was better, wasn't it? No debt she could never hope to repay No ghosts. Here, there was no way to get her hopes dashed pursuing a past she could never reclaim. This was a new universe of new opportunities and she was happy here.

Except there was still that nagging doubt trailing its fingers over the back of her mind, reminding her that she might never reclaim her past in the old Sol, but there had still been that chance. Here, there ws only the future. A future in a time and place where she didn't belong.

But then, she hadn't belonged to the last time and place, either. This was just another strange voyage into a strange time, and this one seemed a little better than the last.

So she got to her feet, let the towel drop to the ground, and went sauntering back into her room, looking for the yellow outfit she favored. Hummed softly to herself, and tried not to think of slightly mismatched eyes gazing at her with the same total comprehension of the Companion Inara.


	10. Session 10: A Kind of Magic

A bad time to be picking up stragglers. A very bad time.

Book's weathered face was curved into a severe frown as he stalked through _Serenity's_ corridors. The Doctor needed to see River, to understand the strange attacks she'd been suffering from over the past few months. They were at odds with the general improvement in her mental well-being that anyone in the crew could see, and Simon was desperate to solve them.

In conjunction with the rumors he'd been picking up over the past few months, these attacks made him very nervous.

Until joining the crew of the _Serenity, _Shepherd Book had kept only minimal contact with his friends in the Alliance, content to grab a drink on occasion and make sure there was nothing to worrying in the works. That was how he'd missed the rumors of the Academy.

But after running into River and discovering what some elements of the Alliance were up to, he'd been making full use of his contacts. Quietly, so as not to alarm the Captain or his friends, but there were dark things at work in the Verse, and now that Shepherd was back in the world he couldn't allow himself to stay totally true.

But what little he'd heard worried him still more. Some big project that was going to change everything in the 'verse. Something tied up with the Academy. And a redoubled effort to track down River Tam.

But why? What was the connection?

Blue Sun. Corporation. Alliance slush-fund. A place for retired bigwigs to pursue the private agendas that would have gotten them crucified under the public fund. And damn near impossible to penetrate into.

And now there were strangers on board. Strangers who had compromised one of the less wicked jobs this crew had undertaken. Strangers at a time when River Tam and the crew were more in danger than they'd ever been before.

By God, Book was tired. Tired of all the sin these people never wanted to stop doing, tired of all the harm that came down upon them whenever they brought themselves to do good work, tired of this life. He wanted to retreat to a monastery again, recover, find his mind. Maybe it was time to get out of the world.

Book suppressed a sigh and came to a stop. He closed his eyes. _Lord, help my eyes to find the truth that needs revealing and my hands to do the work that needs doing. I trust you to guide my feet on the righteous path. Amen._

When he opened his eyes, he found a small, cheerful face right up against his.

"What the-!" Book barked, stumbling backwards. The girl—and it was a girl, small and thin as a twig, hanging upside down from one of the pipes on the ceiling—grinned at him.

"Big hear, bug bear, scared by me!" she sang, and flipped effortlessly from the ceiling onto her feet.

Then River swung down right next to him, also smiling, also upside down. "Old Book, scared look, what do you see!" Equally casually, she twisted and flipped onto her feet on the ground.

And then Kaylee swung down, immediately lost her grip on the fixtures, and collapsed onto the ground, curling into a fetal position as she laughed. A little dog jumped over, barking uproariously.

"S-sorry!" Kayle said, but then broke off in a howl of laughter. "J-just...y-your face...!" And then she trailed off again, burying her face in the floor and laughing as the little dog continued to circle her.

Book ran a hand over his face. "Big hair," he repeated, staring at the little girl.

"Big big big!" she agreed, holding her hands as far apart as they would go.

Book frowned, reached back and touched it. It was still tied back into its ponytail. "No it's not," he said.

"Hidden things are always there!" the girl sang, hopping from one foot to the other.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Ed is Ed!" she said.

"Ed is Ed!" River agreed, smiling. The little dog barked as though in agreement.

Book had seen her laugh before, but he had never seen her look quite so cheerful. Laughs and smiles were fleeting things on River's face, only briefly dispelling the haggard pain she'd worn even as she'd recovered somewhat.

But not now. Now there was no trace of her usual despair.

"I...see." Book said slowly. "Well, it's...it's nice to meet you, Ed." He extended a hand to her. Ed leaned forward, sniffed it, and then nuzzled it for a moment. Book was caught so off-guard that he didn't pull his hand away.

"Book smell, good smell!" she said warmly.

Book blinked. "Th-thank you," he managed, and Kaylee laughed again from the floor.

But strange as Ed was, it was stranger still to see River looking so happy. So at peace. And for a moment Book considered wishing them all well and then continuing on his way. The Doctor would find her eventually. She should have as much fun as she could.

Except it wasn't just about River. It was about the Academy, and this secret Alliance project, and their renewed efforts to find her. Because figuring out these strange attacks River was suffering from was important to everyone. Because even if it meant taking away this happy moment from her, he had to do it. He had to do the hard thing for the larger good.

So he hardened his heart and said, "River, your brother wants to see you."

"Simon?" she said, cocking her head.

Book nodded, and waited for the inevitable down-turning of her features.

"Brother, brother, where is he?" asked Ed.

"Med-bay, med-bay, there is he!" River answered, in the same loose singsong voice.

"Race!" Ed shouted.

"Race!" River agreed, and then all at once the two girls had flung themselves backwards and were scuttling down the hall in a crab walk, the little dog running between them and barking all the while!

"No fair!" Kaylee gasped, struggling to her feet and taking several stumbling crab-walking steps after them.

Book watched them go, blinking.


	11. Session 11: Under Pressure

Simon had never liked being crowded. It had bee the worst part of working in a hospital—the constant hustle and bustle that would sometimes intrude upon him in the middle of a delicate operation. His distaste for crowds had only swelled upon rescuing his sister—every group of people seemed to pose a quiet danger to him, strange faces masks for killing intent that could undo all his hard work saving her.

He hated being crowded even aboard _Serenity. _Now, with strangers aboard, he hated it still more. But he was able to control himself, if only because he hadn't seen River look so happy in a long long time.

"What's this what's this!" asked the hyperactive girl who appeared to be suffering from mild malnutrition.

"It's a neural imager," Simon said, then immediately realized the girl couldn't possibly follow what he was saying. "It's-"

"Machine machine with no soul, show me what's going on inside my skull!" the girl sang. River, laid out on the seat in front of him, giggled.

"Er, yes," Simon affirmed. "That's...more or less what it does."

"I thought these were rare?" Kaylee asked, leaning against a nearby counter. Simon glanced at her, realized he was gawking at her breasts, and quickly jerked his head up to her grinning face. "Whole reason we had to break into that hospital, right?" she added, with a little eyebrow wag to indicate his indiscretion had not gone unnoticed.

Flushing, Simon nodded. "Y-yes," he said. "But the technology's...changed. Apparently they've found a way to develop much more detailed images of the brain, and this tech's been dropped. They were going to junk it, but an old friend of mine...well, he got it to me."

"You're in contact with old friends?" Book asked, standing by the door with his arms folded in front of him. "I don't think the Captain would approve."

"No, I don't think I would, either," Mal said, strolling into the room.

Simon tensed. "Mal-" he started.

"We take a big risk carrying you on this ship," Mal said. "I don't want you risking us all by talking to people who know you're wanted."

"This wasn't one of my old medical buddies, Mal!" Simon retorted. "This was a member of the underground group that helped me get River out! They hate the Alliance every bit as much as you do."

"No one hates the Alliance as much as me," Mal said. "Cept for Zoe, maybe. And may I remind you that these dear friends of yours were more than content to let you and your sister wander off all by your lonesome into the cargo hold of some infamous neer-do-wells?"

That wasn't entirely their fault—the underground had operated far more openly than they were used to to help him save River, and had been using Simon's funds to bankroll the operation. When his accounts froze, their ability to help him was severely limited. "That didn't end too poorly for me, Captain," Mal said.

"I'm sorry, are we forgetting about the fed who tailed you to us?" Mal asked.

Simon sighed again. "No."

"No," Mal said. "Try to keep your contact with these people to a minimum, hm?"

"Come on, Captain," Kaylee said. "Neural imager's bound to help him figure out what's bothering River. Plus if I could get a look at it, I might be able to design something like that. Not as sophisticated, mind, but we could maybe make a profit selling'em in the Rim."

Simon smiled gratefully at her as Mal said, "I'll think about it."

"We can figure that out later," Simon said, returning his gaze to the hovering projection of River's brain. It looked much healthier than the first time he'd laid eyes on it nine months ago. Cleaner, somehow. Activity was about twice as high all across, but then, that might just be normal for River.

And then all at once it went berserk.

River screamed, shaking on the table. Everyone rushed forward all at once, the dog (until this moment sitting quietly in the corner, looking somberly at the proceedings) began to bark wildly, hopping around Simon's legs, the skeletal pink-haired girl placing her forehead against River's. The Shepherd was yelling something and trying to pull the other girl off but both River and the girl started smacking at him and he jerked backwards.

And Simon wanted to comfort her but his eyes were transfixed by the way her brain was reacting, in waves and surges of pain and frenzied activity and it looked familiar but...

Suddenly there was a black spot on one section of the brain, and Simon briefly thought that it was some tumor developing all at once, consuming his poor sister from the inside out, undoing everything he'd tried to do and all his work and sacrifice would be for nothing and all his training, too, because if his sister died what was the point?

But no. The dog had scampered over, and put its nose up against the projection. Against a section of the brain that...

That had to do with communication.

_I've seen this before_.

It stopped. River was panting, whimpering a little with every breath. The dog was giving him a peculiarly knowing look.

"River," he said, running a hand through her hair. "Are you...is it better now."

River's eyes were squeezed tight. "Peer pressure," she moaned, and the words sent a chill up his spine. "Make you stand naked in the light. Put the most tender parts of you on display, and then dig their fingers into them. Make it stop."

"I will," he said soothingly. "I will."

"River River flowing by!" the pink-haired girl sang softly.

"I'll do my best not to cry," River answered, opening her eyes a little. She lifted them to Simon. "I think I need a short recess."

"That's okay, mei-mei," he said. "I'll...I'll look at the data."

"And make insightful hyoptheses," she said. She sat up slowly, removing the little metal circlet that allowed him such detailed insight into her brain. "If you need me to doublecheck your work, let me know."

"You'll do it anyways," he said, smiling so he wouldn't cry.

"Otherwise your tendency towards inexcusable inaccuracies would go uncorrected." He stumbled out of the room, with the pink-haired girl scampering along behind her on all fours. The dog barked, leapt from the table, and trotted along at River's feet.

"Book, could you-" Simon started.

"I'll make sure she's okay," Book said, and followed them out.

"I did not think it was possible for this ship to get any stranger," Mal mused, staring after them.

"Simon, what's wrong with her?" Kaylee asked.

"Something new," Simon said. "This isn't the result of her surgery—at least, not directly. But the thing is, I've seen symptoms like this before."

"Really?" Kaylee said.

"Yes," Simon replied. "There was a chemical attack during the Unification War—Independents used an experimental chemical weapon they'd developed on some elite Alliance sol-"

He broke off when he saw the look of mingled anger, exasperation, and amusement on Mal's face. "Fraid that story ain't exactly true, Doctor," Mal said. "It was the Alliance that developed the weapon. When we got wind of it, a squad of choice soldiers—myself included—was dispatched to prevent it from ever getting used. Since they only had the one batch and it was in their special forces compound..."

Simon nodded. He had never thought to question the official account of events, but the Independents hadn't been much for technological innovation and he'd seen what the Alliance was willing to do for the sake of progress—both during the war and after.

"Do you know what the compound did?" Simon asked.

"Only knew it was supposed to be nonlethal," Mal said. "Doesn't make much sense to me, but..."

"It's a devastating weapon, captain," Simon informed him, thinking back to the patient he'd treated. "It somehow targets the section of your brain that processes auditory and visual signals and disconnects it from the section that handles communication. In other words, your brain no longer sees or hears words as a method of communication. It's not impossible to talk to them—it just takes a great deal of effort."

"And what good are soldiers if they can't understand orders?" Mal mused. "That's a helluva twisted thing."

"Well, Alliance didn't want to waste their highly trained special forces," Simon said. "So they developed a computer interface for these soldiers that got around the damage. Full testing didn't begin until after the war, but preliminary results showed the soldiers were even more effective—their intel was constantly updated, and they could response on a moment's notice."

"How'd you learn about all this, Simon?" Kaylee asked.

"Because when I was interning, I had to deal with them," Simon said. "See, the interface allowed the soldiers to link directly to each other—share thoughts as communication. But as the program developed, it began to allow more and more of these details to bleed over. It was no longer just words meant to be shared—secret thoughts, secret feelings, memories, pain, all of these started to be shared over the network too, and the Alliance couldn't shut it down because that would kill them. A hundred of those soldiers ended up at my old hospital. Took us months to figure out an effective treatment. We eventually had to put them into comas so that their thoughts would stop bleeding over. Then we had to work on removing the devices that made it all possible..."

"This is a fascinating anecdote, Doctor," Mal said. "And I'm always delighted to hear about Alliance incompetence, but was there a point to this story?"

"The point, Captain, is that when all those thoughts and memories started bleeding over, their brains looked very similar to what River's just looked like."

The Captain stared at him, then swore under his breath. "Are you telling me she's got a device in her skull reporting back to the Alliance?" he said.

Simon shook his head and said, "No. No, we'd be able to see that, especially with the imager. What I'm saying is, it seems like she's being...attacked, somehow."

Mal's eyes narrowed. "She's a reader, Doctor," he said. "Can tell what people are thinking. Can feel trouble coming."

"According to you," Simon said, trying to ignore the nagging fear and doubt that always surfaced at the back of his mind when this subject came up.

"According to everyone!" Mal barked. "And she didn't used to do that, right?"

"Right..."

"We still don't know what they did to your sister, do we?" Mal asked. "But we do know they were doing it to other people."

Simon felt his jaw drop a little. "Captain, surely you're not suggesting-"

"I'm suggesting that we have to find a way to treat this," Mal said. "Fast. I don't want them finding us."

"I think I can safely say I don't either," Simon said, his eyes narrowing a little.

"Then we'd best do it fast," Mal said. "You know how to get ahold of any of those underground folk on Persephone."

Growing exasperation mixed with growing fear in Simon's stomach. "You just told me you didn't want me talking to those people!" Simon said.

"That was then. This is now. I want you to find out what you can from them soon as we drop into orbit around Persephone. See if you can find out why this is happening and how we can stop it."

Simon hesitated, then nodded. "At the very least, I could start her on a drug regimen similar to the one we gave the soldiers."

"Good," Mal said. "I don't want any other readers getting a beat on us. Last thing I want is the Alliance breathing down my neck anymore than they do already.

He left the med bay. Simon sighed and put a hand to his head.

"You okay?" Kaylee asked, sidling up behind him and roping arms around his stomach.

"I'm fine," Simon said. "But she's not. And...and he's right, Kaylee, she does know things, and if there are others like her..."

"It's okay," Kaylee said. "You'll figure it out."

"I haven't yet," he said bleakly. "All my training and...Kaylee, this is so beyond me. This is so beyond anyone. The things they did to her."

"She's feeling okay," Kaylee said. "Ed and Ein...they're keeping her company."

"A dog and a starvation victim," Simon snorted, and was about to say more before he felt warm lips pressed against the back of his neck.

"They're keeping her mind off her troubles," Kaylee said. "Now, how's about I do the same for you?"

Simon hesitated. There were a million things he needed to do—contact the underground on Persephone, figure out where to get the drugs he'd need to quiet River's mind like they'd done for the soldiers, but...

But the truth was he couldn't do any of that. Not now. Not until they were closer to Persephone.

"Yes," Simon said, turning to look down into her big, bright eyes, almost energetic, almost so much more alive than they had any right to be. "I think I could handle that."

He closed his lips on hers, and let his mind melt into her warm, soft embrace.


End file.
